A poem

A Walk At Dusk

Slow December fog crawls and creeps,
And a little boy softly weeps,
The yellow street lamp lights the way,
As I wander throught the remains of the day.

Lighted windows line the street,
Cigarette smoke hangs in the air.
Empty park benches long and sleek,
I want to shout out loud, but I do not dare,
Break though the silence that hangs in the cold air.

The moon is alone in her sky,
Sometimes I think I can hear her cry.
Thunder and silence break out all around,
But lost in my thoughts, I have drowned.

12/97